


widower

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club, Televoid! (Web Series)
Genre: Buried Alive, Cuddling & Snuggling, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Resurrection, a lot of things are not really explained.. die i guess, canon divergent im assuming.. unless im like psychic, dubiously happy ending, hoes sad, implied violence and homophobia i guess, luke is legally not allowed to swear, shout out to watson lets get it, technically.., this got so long...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: The void takes some pity, fucking finally.





	widower

**Author's Note:**

> https://cosmic-noir.tumblr.com/post/118373817263/how-to-escape-after-being-buried-alive-in-a
> 
> I deadass just saw this post and was like hmm.. what can I do with this information.. and then wrote like 7k words hgdfksfg
> 
> ive been meaning to write something for televoid and its been awhile since ive posted brutaltown so yeah! lets get it!

There wasn't much of a way of keeping track of time in the void, but Ian knew it had been too long. _Much too long._ Since anything. Since the last broadcast, since the last email, since Frank last visited, since the door he thought was his way out screamed at him in static that _he wasn't ready,_ and threw him back by the TV.

****

He hadn't tried to find it again. He felt too weak to move, too weak to eat, just so _desperate_ to die at this point, but it didn't seem like he could. 

****

Maybe the void had abandoned him. Maybe it had found a new, better host, who won't be misbehaving as much as Ian did. And if he can't die, he's just stuck here forever. Maybe he could wander off in search of the door again, but he doubted he would be any better off.

****

Either way, isolation. Boredom. Suffocating void.

****

_Is this hell?_

****

…

****

_Chk... Chk-Chk-Chk-Chk-_

****

Ian practically fell off the couch, throwing himself in the direction of the printer. _Holy shit, the printer._

****

The emails lately- _Well, not lately-_ Most _recently_ had been censored to all hell, more of a mockery than actual communication. But it was _something_ , and Ian didn't care at this point. The void hadn't _completely_ abandoned him. It remembered.

****

Ian was fully prepared for sentences cut strangely together, an array of black bars obscuring whatever the sender really had to say, but...

****

This wasn't that. The words were perfectly coherent, but... He didn't understand. It was written like a script, with only the names blacked out.

****

_■■■■ [whispering, strangled]: Hey, ■■■._

****

_[■■■■ lays the bouquet of marigolds, black dahlias, morning glories, and bluebells on ■■■'s grave. He sits back, looking up at his tombstone.]_

****

_■■■■: … I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. If you can even hear me, I don't... just..._

****

_[■■■■ takes a deep breath, sighing as tears come to his eyes. He wipes his eyes with the back of his fist, chuckling weakly as he comes to a sort of internal acceptance of what he's doing.]_

****

_■■■■: It's been... a real long time, now. I don't... I probably shouldn't keep coming back here, but..._

****

_■■■■ [His voice breaks]: Fuck, I miss you. You're not... you're not used to me saying "fuck," are you? I'm- I'm not used to me saying "fuck." I don't like it. It- It reminds me of you..._

****

_[■■■■ sniffles, scrubbing at his eyes once more.]_

****

_■■■■: You're probably not even listening. I just... I really, really freaking miss you, alright? All... All of us do. And..._

****

_[■■■■ hugs his knees, no longer trying to wipe away his tears, just struggling through them]_

****

_■■■■: If you're actually listening, you probably already know, but... I should have tried harder to keep us all together. And... closer, together, at least, I- I'm just... I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't have wanted this._

****

_[■■■■ drops one arm from around his legs, his right hand digging into the loose dirt, squeezing as he looks up at the gravestone.]_

****

_■■■■: I just... don't know what to do. ■■■■■ and ■■■■■■ finally moved last week, and just... You're all I have left here. I... I should have asked ■■■■ and ■■■■■ if they had room for one more, but I just... didn't. And now I don't have anywhere else to go._

****

_[■■■■ struggles onto his feet, still hugging himself.]_

****

_■■■■: You're probably sick of me, I know, and I should go, but I just... I just thought that maybe, if you're actually listening from somewhere, you should know. And you should know that I'm sorry, but, y'know... At least the other guys are doing alright. Really, just... mainly that I'm-_

****

_[■■■■ cuts himself off, freezing at the sight of the dirt beginning to move, seeming to fall.]_

****

_■■■■ [Breathless, confused and utterly terrified.]: … ■■■?_

****

_[Cut to black.]_

****

Ian exhaled sharply, glancing at where the camera usually was just to make sure it wasn't on, and flung the paper back in the direction of the printer.

****

He didn't even want to try to wrap his head around what all that meant. The main thing he fixated on was the sender, surprisingly legible and unobscured, a simple _yungtown@hiddenblock.com._

****

He didn't really recognize the name or the website, but the implication still made his gut twist. Just some sick joke from some crazy fan, it had to be. 

****

Sighing, he relinquished his desperate grab for stimulation and attention and threw himself back onto the couch, into numbness and infinite void.

****

He probably wasn't even supposed to get that email. Maybe it was meant for some new Ian, who the email might actually make sense to. The void had taken everything from him, his _hope,_ his only sense of feeling, and he did not want it back.

****

_Yungtown. Fucking stupid name._

****

\---

****

Somehow, the email wasn't the last of it. 

****

Again, his grip on time was still incredibly loose, but it wasn't long after when the sound of static and low quality, old-timey swing pulled him out of a nap he had been desperately needing. 

****

It was difficult to get himself to care. He didn't feel like looking up to see if the camera was on; if the audience was watching, he couldn't feel it, and all he wanted to do was _sleep._

****

_Not gonna happen,_ a voice in his head sneered. He hated that voice, but it was right. 

****

Ian groaned, blearily looking at the TV and seeing it stuck on some kind of news channel transition slide, but...

****

_Wait..._

****

The antenna was up. He _definitely_ didn't put it up himself. _Did he? No. No, no, no no no-_

****

He ungracefully threw himself off the couch once more, his mind hijacked by the urge to _put it back down._ He was _not_ ready for whatever it was about to show him, but as soon as he was by the TV-

****

The camera flicked on. The music played. The TV laid in waiting. Presented in color.

****

_They're back._

****

Ian nearly cried, out of anger and happiness and hatred and the sudden return of hope that he never asked for. _They're back, he hasn't been forgotten._

****

Instead of crying, he threw himself into the show.

****

"Hi, I'm Ian and it's been fucking forever! Let's watch some TV!"

****

The static pulsed slightly, they probably didn't like him swearing, but the audience giggled and Ian had _never felt better._

****

"Tonight, we'll be watching a little one off broadcast from PitchDark entertainment, released in 2016-"

****

Ian stopped himself. _2016?_ That didn't sound right, but... _Who is he to say,_ he figured. 

****

"Not exactly retro, I suppose, but still worth checking out; titled Buried Alive!: A PSA."

****

This already sounded dumb. Leave it to the void to give him nothing for an eternity, and then throw him the scraps of whatever television they had left.

****

"Now, I'll take the liberty of guessing that this PSA is about being... I don't know, being buried alive?"

****

The audience chuckled again, but the joke felt... _sour_ to Ian.

****

"I don't know, were people getting buried alive regularly in 2016? I don't remember. Actually, it might just be about stress management, or something? Who knows. Guess there's only one way to find out."

****

Finally, the show actually began, and the camera flicked off.

****

…

****

_Wait, what? No, wait-_

****

In a strange, dark, crypt like setting, a man in a suit rose up from a rotting bench and started walking towards the camera.

****

"Imagine this: You wake up one morning, forcing yourself to kick of your covers and get ready for the day, but you don't find yourself in your bed. You find yourself alone, in the dark, in a coffin. Surrounded by the scent of earth and the worms gnawing their way in, doomed to slowly suffocate under the dirt. Especially for the formerly dead, it can happen to anyone."

****

_What the fuck?_

****

The man had a British accent, his voice low and incredibly business-like for the topic itself. He was… weirdly buff, the suit strangely tight, and this seemed like a program with no need for eye-candy, but _alright?_

****

"Wh- Is he the one that buried me? Jesus, he looks like he could snap my neck if he hugged me too hard," Ian quipped to the camera, before remembering that it was _off_. _Why is it off? Did something go wrong?_

****

"If, _void-forbid_ , you do find yourself in this situation, you can only rely on yourself. No matter how it might seem, there is _always_ a way out."

****

_Okay, no. This is fucked up. Something's wrong. Void-forbid? Is this a fucking joke?_

****

_Void-forbid, fuck_. If anything, the void had taught him that there is no way out, and that anything seeming like one is a lie.

****

_Who the hell is this asshole, anyway? He looks…_

****

_Familiar?_

****

He searched his brain for _some anecdote, anything._ Maybe this program shares an actor with one of the other shows he had seen here, but he came up with nothing. Even if there was, there was nobody to say it to. 

****

Ian found himself watching silently, dumbfounded. Looking back, he wasn't sure if he was breathing.

****

"Now, we have no time to waste, just as there's no time to waste underground. There are seven simple steps to saving yourself."

****

The screen transitioned to an animated segment, depicting a purple stick figure with a black swirling mass for a head, trapped within what was presumably a coffin, buried underground and entirely surrounded by darkness. For the simplistic art style of the figure, its struggling was surprisingly detailed and _fervent,_ squirming and tracing its confines with its stick-ball hands.

****

“Rule number one: Do not waste oxygen.” 

****

The screen switched back to the host, presumably due to this rule in particular being difficult to depict with the simple animation. He sat in a corner of the crypt now, slowly swinging a flickering flashlight back and forth in his grip, illuminating the rotting and dusty shelves above him.

****

“Depending on the volume of the coffin, the size of the person themselves, and the circumstances of one’s return to consciousness, there may be enough oxygen for upwards of an hour, or there may only be enough to last less than 15 minutes. Either way, you’re probably not wanting to stick around too long, and you’ll need to remain calm for the following escape. Therefore, inhale deeply, and exhale very slowly.”

****

Ian caught himself practicing what the host had described, inhaling and exhaling a bit slower after each attempt. The technique failed to calm him in any other respect, his hands shaking and his leg bouncing anxiously.

****

“Now, three important _Don'ts._ Don’t try to swallow, because you may begin to hyperventilate. Do not use any lighters or matches you may have on you, although if you do happen to have one, a flashlight is perfectly safe,” The host continued, gesturing with the flashlight in his hand. “And, perhaps most importantly, _don’t scream._ ”

****

The host didn’t elaborate on that point at all, which was a bit jarring, but Ian got the hint. Nobody would hear him, and he needed to _not_ be wasting oxygen.

****

This broadcast, strangely, seemed to actually be going well. Especially for the topic. Surely, something would be going wrong soon. The animation was already kind of creepy, it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Why was this being shown to him _and him alone_ at all?

****

The screen transitioned back to the animation, the figure a bit more detailed now as it continued to squirm. 

****

“Step two, shake the lid and kick the middle of the coffin, where it’s structurally the weakest. The goal of this is to loosen the pressure on top of the coffin, to make a crack or hole so that the lid can be moved easier.”

****

The figure executed the host’s words, shaking the lid and causing a bit of dirt to fall from the sides. There wasn’t any _particular_ reason for Ian to feel as uneasy as he did, but the void was starting to feel a lot more confining. He was prepared for the broadcast to end at any moment, for all the dirt to suddenly fall onto the figure and for it to suffocate on camera, for the TV to turn off without any further explanation and for him to be thrown back into isolation. He knew something like that was the most likely outcome, and he shouldn’t get too invested for that reason, but he still found himself watching closely.

****

“Step three-” The host spoke as the angle switched to being directly above the figure, illustrating the host’s words. “Assuming you’re, hopefully, wearing some kind of shirt or jacket; cross your arms over your chest, holding onto your shoulder with your hands, and pull the garment off upward. Tie it in a knot above your head, and this will make you less likely to suffocate when the dirt falls.”

****

Ian mirrored the first part of the movement, holding his shoulders. That, weirdly, actually seemed like a pretty pro tip. The animation was surprisingly detailed when it came to the movement of the fabric, folding as it was tied above the figure’s head, but it seemed the effort was soon nullified. Its torso was briefly a darker shade of grey to illustrate the movement of its clothes, but after the segment, its entire body returned to the same shade of purple, and the black swirling mass consumed the fabric covering it.

****

“Step four: Break the lid completely by continuing to kick it with your legs. This may even be easier than it sounds, depending on the age or quality of the coffin itself, it may already be damaged.”

****

The figure continued to follow orders, an eerie creaking following each thump from a kick.

****

“When the lid breaks, step five: Move the dirt that falls in the direction of your feet. Continue to remain calm, but move around, and press the dirt to the sides of the coffin with your legs when it begins to take up too much space.”

****

The figure didn’t struggle nearly as much as it did at the beginning of the show, following the host’s advice calmly and to the letter. It seemed to be going well, which only really indicated to Ian that things were going to get worse.

****

“Step six: However you go about making room and moving the dirt, your main goal is to sit up. The dirt will fill up whatever empty space you leave, so move it to your advantage. No matter what, do not stop moving, and try to keep breathing.”

****

_Some great, general advice there._ Ian couldn’t even know for sure if this was true, actual good advice. He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t, he _still_ didn’t understand the purpose. What, was he supposed to be the purple stick figure? Was this some kind of symbolism, or a joke?

****

“And for the seventh and final step: Simply get up. Of course, much of this depends on the circumstances; the dirt may be loose, or heavy and sticky if it’s been raining. Truly, the most important thing is to remain determined, hold onto hope, and you’ll make it out alive.”

****

The stick figure did a little dance on top of its grave, the black swirling mass turning yellow, into a star.

****

This was such a _fucking joke,_ it _had_ to be. Was the void _this_ desperate to make him hopeful again? What, were they all out of other Ian’s, so they had to try to salvage the one pathetic shell of a host they had left?

****

“Oh, wow, I’m fucking bursting with optimism now, _thanks,_ ” Ian called out, of course, to no response. If they were going to do this, why did they feel the need to shut out the audience anyway? 

****

Something else had to be coming. Ian knew.

****

The screen finally switched back to the host, holding a skull, now. _Alright._ His gaze slid towards the camera, smirking, red lights illuminating the bugs on the shelves and the dust flying in the air. Nothing really fazed Ian anymore.

****

“That’s all you need to know about escaping the coffin itself. The most important thing now is to pray that the world is ready for you."

****

The host lowered his eyes, almost… _mournfully._

****

_… What?_

****

"No matter how much I- _You_ may like it to be, the world will not be the same as you left it. You're lucky, Ian, getting back so soon."

****

_Oh, come the fuck on._

****

"I hope you find a world still worth living in. You're always welcome in the void, you know. Maybe you can try out a different role. But pray they remember you, because I think you just might have a chance."

****

Ian didn't care about the host's weird, saddened ramblings about _the world._ What the fuck was the point? What, were they really going to-

****

…

****

_No… No, they wouldn't._

****

_Last time the door disappeared, why would they…_

****

"I know it's difficult to understand now-"

****

"No shit," Ian snarked back at the TV, doubtful that the host could even hear him. Maybe this had all happened before.

****

"But it'll all make sense soon. You'll remember soon. Everyone comes back here eventually, and no matter how it may seem, everyone leaves as well."

****

This _couldn't_ be serious.

****

"I pray that the world is ready for you, but that's not what truly matters. You need to be ready for _it._ I've given you all the information I can, so what do you say?"

****

Ian stared blankly at the screen before realizing it was an actual question.

****

"Uh… Sure?" 

****

The host's smirk grew into a warm grin, eyes honestly compassionate yet… pained.

****

He was trapped here too, wasn't he? Was that one of the other roles he had brought up, telling everyone else how to get out and cheering them on, while still remaining completely trapped? At least his crypt had walls, not just infinite darkness. From what Ian could see, anyway.

****

_… Maybe he should just shut up and listen._

****

"Then go. I hope they remember you."

****

The host shifted anxiously, jutting a little closer to the camera as the image began to distort.

****

"Try- Ian, try to see if they remember me too, alright? You'll- You'll remember them. _My name is-_ "

****

The audio and visual of the show distorted heavily before coming to a jarringly unsatisfying _click_ as the TV turned off.

****

Ian swallowed, utterly confused. What, was he supposed to remember the host? He did look… _kind of familiar,_ but what was he supposed to do with that information? What was he supposed to do about making sure he was remembered, _what was the fucking point-_

****

Ian stood up in a huff, turning around and finding _the door._

****

He was already closer to it than it had let him get last time, looming right next to the couch, and _Jesus,_ Ian wanted to scream.

****

But he couldn't find any words to say, let alone anyone to say it to. The sight practically knocked the wind out of him, and the fear of it disappearing threw him towards it without hesitation.

****

On hand fell on the door itself. Wood, tangible, real. The other fell on the doorknob, twisting it. _Click._

****

_Holy shit._

****

Ian closed his eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath. The door was still there when they opened, wasn't going _anywhere._ His mind filled with static, a thousand questions and comments and concerns all screaming for dominance, jumbled and mixed together. His mind felt fuzzy, just in general. His skin tingled, like sparks of electricity were crawling up his body, and taking a good breath was getting worryingly difficult.

****

With no other option or thought that could distract him, he opened the door-

****

And found himself buried in static.

****

\---

****

"You're probably sick of me, I know-" Luke continued, struggling through his unheard, self-serving monologue. He knew this was pointless, he had already given what remained of Ian all of his thoughts, and yet-

****

"And I should go, but I just... I just thought that maybe, if you're actually listening from somewhere, you should know."

****

If he ever would, he already did. Luke felt pathetic for rambling on this long, for still coming to Ian's grave after all this time, for still not being _over it_ , for crying out here again and _again,_ for being so damn _loud._

****

Loud enough to not hear the cracking, falling, shifting before him in the long settled grave.

****

"And you should know that I'm sorry, but, y'know... At least the other guys are doing alright. Really, just... mainly that I'm-"

****

_Crack._

****

Oh, that time Luke heard it. The cracking turned to the pitter-patter of falling dirt and rocks, the desperate struggle of _something_ moving, the trembling of the very ground in front of him.

****

Luke called out to the only name he knew how.

****

"Ian?"

****

The dirt fell away, and a hand broke the surface. Then arms. A masked face. A body.

****

Luke was completely frozen in place, helpless in the dirt, entirely failing to process if what he was feeling was terror or God-sent joy. Either way, he wanted to cry, but that was nowhere within the realm of possibility at the moment. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe, _couldn't-_

****

The figure clawed at the hoodie tied over their head, ripping it off and gasping, combing an unruly length of hair out of their face and panting. _His_ face.

****

_Jesus freaking Christ, that's him._

****

Luke could only stare in awe as Ian found himself, his breathing eventually slowing, his wide grey eyes relaxing, _laughing_ and absentmindedly brushing some of the dirt from his skin before his gaze fell on Luke.

****

And watching the look on Ian's face when he realized was like watching a heavily-used bridge go up in flames and _collapse._

****

\---

****

_Come the fuck on,_ Ian had _just_ caught his breath, and there it went again. But _good-fucking-void,_ the realization of _everything_ came down with the pressure of something more like the bottom of the ocean than six feet of dirt.

****

_The void._

_He was out._

_The dirt, the coffin, the creaking._

_He was buried._

_He was buried alive._

_He was buried dead._

_He was buried, and now he was out._

_He was at his own grave._

_There was someone at his grave._

_He loved the man at his grave._

_He had left the man at his grave alone for void-knows how long._

_He was the man speaking in the email, void-knows how he even got that._

_Yungtown._

_Luke._

_Luke, his name is Luke._

_He loves him._

_He loves Luke._

_Luke loves him._

_He sang him love songs out on the field, by their tree._

_He kissed him in the clubroom when nobody was around._

_Clubroom._

_Hidden Block._

_He missed Hidden Block._

_He had left them all alone._

_Luke was alone._

_Not anymore, but it was still his fault._

_Luke, Jeff, Caddy, Wallid, Jimmy._

_He loved them._

_They loved him._

_He left them all alone._

_Wallid, Jimmy, they weren't there._

_Yelling, screaming, pushing._

_Scratches along his arms._

_Caddy promised to get help._

_Words he'd rather not repeat._

_Hands around his wrists, his hair, his neck._

_Luke, Jeff, they couldn't get there in time._

_Eyes wide, heartbeat wild._

_They only regretted doing it so impulsively, so vulnerably._

_He watched from somewhere above, the audio and visual bursting into static._

_They kicked and slapped at his body._

_Trying to get some response._

_None came._

_His friends, with help, were right outside the door, but he died alone._

_Suddenly, no signal._

_He looked up and he didn't know where he was._

****

Ian exhaled, lightheaded panic reducing his approach to a crawl, reaching desperately for his former boyfriend, a plea consisting of only "Luke..."

****

Still _current_ boyfriend? No, his widower. Luke didn't move or try to run away, but Ian could practically _hear_ Luke's heartbeat, eyes wider than he'd ever seen, shaking in every limb.

****

Big, blue eyes that filled with tears once Ian was close enough to touch him, making the first thing Ian had heard from him a sob. Their hands met, the first touch Ian had felt other than pain in… _however long he'd been dead, too long._

****

And _oh,_ now he was crying too. Because Luke was, and he was _here_ , and he was _home_. Because Luke felt the warmth of Ian's touch and pulled him into his arms, because there was a bouquet behind them meant for somebody that wasn't gone, because Luke was sobbing harder than Ian had ever seen him, seen _anyone,_ but _good-fucking-void,_ he did it _beautifully._

****

All Luke managed to choke out was "Oh my God."

****

Everything else, for the moment, went unsaid. 

****

\---

****

"So… can you try to explain what… happened?" Luke sighed, his arms around Ian, Kitchen Bad-Dreams playing quietly in the background. Ian rested his head on Luke's chest, fully indulging in the luxury of physical touch and comfort now that he had the chance, in the luxury of _having_ a damn bed.

****

This conversation was inevitable, but that certainly didn't make it any easier.

****

"Why don't… you give me your timeline first? I'm still… fuzzy on the details."

****

He felt Luke take a breath, clearly not a conversation he was excited for either. Ian braced himself.

****

"You… died… March 27th, 2016. Because some bullies took a… joke, or something, _way too far._ And… you were buried… Um, in May. I forget the day. And I kept coming back, once every… two months, loosely, until now."

****

"What day _is_ it now?"

****

"February 17th, 2019."

****

"Oh. Holy shit."

****

"Yeah," Luke grunted, almost laughing, most likely just from the pressure Ian was putting on his chest.

****

"Well… I didn't really have a way of telling if time was passing, honestly. I… I didn't remember until now what happened before I… got put in this… place.”

****

_How the hell was he even supposed to explain the void?_

****

“It was… It was called the void. Or, the Televoid. Either, really, and it was just… dark, and empty, and infinite. Except there was a couch, and a plant, and the TV. And… a camera.”

****

Luke’s arms around him remained comforting, but grew a little more controlling.

****

“They filmed you?” Luke asked, a tone darker than Ian ever wanted to hear.

****

“Yeah, they… It was weird, I… I _wanted_ the show they ran. They’d send me these retro broadcasts, and I’d… review them, I guess. And it was the only time I wasn’t alone…” 

****

Ian’s voice broke slightly on that last part, Luke squeezing him a bit tighter to compensate, pressing his lips to Ian’s hair. Rapidly, Ian was realizing that there was more that was weird than simply the void itself. It was weird that he felt like he was home, in Luke’s new apartment that he had no idea Luke even had. It was weird that Luke welcomed him back so quickly, although that was more sad than weird. It was weird that _he_ was so eager to be back with Luke so quickly, straight into his arms after being entirely touch-starved for presumably, just under three years.

****

Well, actually, that really wasn’t much of a surprise. But it _was_ weird that Luke simply believed him so easily. He didn’t have much of a choice, but… 

****

“And… Over time, the broadcasts became less and less frequent, I only had, like- six actual episodes, I think, and they just… left me in the dark. I had a printer, too, actually, it would print fanmail and stuff, and-”

****

_Shit,_ should he even tell Luke about the email he got from him?

****

“You were getting fanmail? I- How, from where?”

****

“Uh… Televoid dot net,” Ian offered awkwardly, the memory of the void growing more and more painful as he continued.

****

“I… Hold on. Sit up.”

****

Ian did so incredibly reluctantly as Luke grabbed his phone from his pocket, opting to settle next to Luke rather than on top of him as he searched the name of the website.

****

His screen went all white, and Ian realized he had never actually seen the website. Nothing but four dead images, his email address, and...

****

If he was still laying on top of Luke, he probably would have felt the chill that went through Luke. Luke still managed to notice Ian tense, snuggling in a bit closer and joining their hands.

****

There was something incredibly haunting about the words _Come back soon!_

****

They mutually decided that was enough serious discussion for the day, Luke practically tossing his phone towards the foot of the bed and holding Ian once more.

****

\---

****

“I just- I still don’t get it!” Luke exclaimed, running his hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Ian sat idly at the table, watching Luke’s every movement.

****

“I don’t either.”

****

“I- I just- You _were_ dead, right? That’s a fact.”

****

“I’m assuming.”

****

“Yeah, and- You- Did the void like, take control of your soul, or something?”

****

Ian tried to act somewhat enthused, because he knew Luke was honestly concerned, but he _did not fucking care_ at this point what the void really was. He just wanted to forget about it, and be with Luke. But no, Luke wouldn’t let him.

****

“Maybe. I mean, there were other Ian's.”

****

“Other- Oh God, I forgot, the other Ian's-” Luke rambled, and for once, Ian _wasn’t_ utterly captivated by his voice. “I- What if- Did you ever meet any of the other Ian's? Like, face to face?”

****

“No. Only through the TV.”

****

“Then, m-maybe they were like- Not actually you, but other lost souls or something? But then that means-”

****

“Luke.”

****

“I guess if there are multiple, that’s why they gave you back? But why were you-”

****

_“Luke.”_

****

Like a child being scolded, Luke went silent as Ian rose from his seat and approached him. Ian took Luke’s overactive hands into his own, reveling for a moment in the silence.

****

“Luke, I just… I don’t know. And I _really_ just… don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? It’s like… I _just_ got out, I want just a little more time with… you. I can’t…”

****

Luke hushed him by taking back his hands and using them to pull Ian in, wrapping around Ian’s waist. Like they were made to fit together like this, Ian clung to Luke without question.

****

“I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

****

“It’s fine.”

****

“No, I should have asked. Just…”

****

Luke took one of his hands from Ian’s waist and brought it up to cup his cheek, his smile warm and his voice captivating again. He was a little surprised the void didn’t bring Luke up more, come to think of it, because he had a _hell of a weak spot._

****

“You’re… You’re incredibly strong. And just- All around, incredible. You know?”

****

Ian chuckled, cheeks reddening from embarrassment and the sheer proximity of their faces, Luke’s body up against his own.

****

Ian couldn’t really say that he agreed, but they had agreed to stop talking about it for now. Only a second later, and the topic had vanished completely from his mind, replaced with giddy touches and _love._

****

\---

****

“Is it okay if I tell you about my… theory, I guess?”

****

Ian drummed his nails on the side of his cup of coffee. He’d say it was too late for this, but it was only 9:30, and his sleep schedule wasn’t exactly regular anyway. Ian had been back for five days now, holed up in Luke’s apartment not entirely unlikely being trapped in the void, but at least he was generous with the amount of time he gave Ian to cope in silence, mainly through cuddling.

****

“Uh… sure.”

****

If not for the inevitability of the topic itself, Luke’s smile would still have made agreeing entirely worth it. He clasped his hands in front of him, flopping down in the armchair next to Ian.

****

“So, two ideas, I think. One is probably… less likely, but makes more sense, and it’s got some tangible bad guy, and then the other one is just… sad and scary. So, one, do you remember how Jimmy brought in that weird, haunted cassette tape?”

****

“Uh…” Ian searched the deepest recesses of his memory, of how the club used to be, and found a lot of other things. Getting his ass kicked at Nario Party, being forced to clean up the clubroom every Friday, screaming matches turned playfully violent, flirty remarks turned _genuinely_ violent. But nothing of some weird, haunted cassette tape, which is strange, because it sounds like something he would be all over before… _the void_ happened. “No, I don’t think so.”

****

“Oh. Well, we had one. And I forget what was actually on it, but I was just thinking, maybe-”

****

“Are you implying that an evil VCR killed me?”

****

“I- No, no, I just thought maybe- I don’t know. Maybe it was bad luck or something. And it, like, trapped your soul somehow.”

It took all of Ian's energy _not_ to roll his eyes at that.

****

“Riveting. So it’s all Jimmy’s fault?”

****

“I- No, but I mean- Well, yeah, kind of? But I think he actually got it from _Shane_.”

****

And all of a sudden, Ian felt all the pieces falling into place yet again, crashing and burning.

****

_A dark, dingy, dusty crypt._

_A black suit, perfectly clean, a little tight._

_A warm grin, he was happy for Ian._

_That was his name._

_That’s what the host tried to tell him, but the void wouldn’t let him._

_Shane._

****

_…_

****

_Wait. Oh_ **_shit._ **

****

“-y, hey. Ian? You still with me?”

****

Ian blinked blearily, static ringing in his ears, the sound and his vision slowly coming back into focus. Luke was touching him, _oh, that was nice,_ holding his shoulder as Ian returned to consciousness.

****

“Is… Is Shane… I- I saw him in the void.”

****

The way Luke’s eyes widened, filling with fear, panic, and _concern,_ could _fucking end wars._ Just not this one.

****

“Wh- What? When?”

****

“I- Okay, I didn’t realize it was him until just now, he- He was the one that like, showed me how to escape my coffin, and I think- I think he was trapped too-”

****

“That- That doesn’t make sense. I was talking to Shane just a couple days ago, he couldn’t- I…”

****

Luke’s actions contradicted his words, frantically fumbling for his phone.

****

“I don’t know, but… He might not be dead, or whatever, but maybe he’s connected to it.”

****

After a brief silence, clearly typing something, Luke looked up and swallowed.

****

“I… Yeah, I guess. But then I don’t know how you got out, and… Yeah. I like my second theory a lot less now, too.”

****

"Um… Still worth a shot?" Ian mumbled, no more enthusiastic than Luke was. Luke sighed, taking a moment to rub his eyes, and Ian was _already_ regretting what he'd said.

****

"So, I… I'm still really not sure how to make it make sense to myself, and I guess I'm kind of having a… bit of a crisis, but- Yeah. Whatever. I was just thinking…"

****

Luke's phone dinged, making them both jump. Despite the scare, Luke breathed an obvious sigh of relief at the message, and Ian knew without asking. _Shane. He's fine, he's alive. Alive? He's… responding._ What Ian saw in the void had to be something else. A fake, or maybe some timeline shenanigans? He couldn't even bring himself to care.

****

"Okay, yeah, I- This is a lot less probable now, but maybe there are some different conditions for different people, and I- I don't know-"

****

"Luke, just spit it out."

****

"Okay, okay, I- Maybe it's still, like, manmade and an object, somewhere, but- What if it's not _just_ some haunted cassette tape somewhere, that we can just- like- _step on_ and then it would be over. What if it's something bigger than that?"

****

"What… What do you mean? I mean, like, the void itself was literally infinite-"

****

"I mean it's probably not just you."

****

That shouldn't have been as _shattering_ of a conclusion as it was, but Ian felt almost as if he was six feet underground again. He could feel himself shaking, an uncomfortable pressure pushing down on his chest, electricity, _static_ crawling over his skin and burrowing into his mind.

****

Luke noticed immediately, as always, their hands meeting. Ian held on _for dear fucking life._

****

"How…" Ian rasped, his composure entirely failing him. "How is that possible?"

****

"I- Literally, I have no idea, there's no way to know for sure, but- You said there were multiple Ian's, right? Maybe they weren't _actually_ you, maybe it was just _making_ you see them that way, or something. And you said there were others, right? The fox, and-"

****

"Frank," Ian confirmed quietly, _hating_ the implications. Frank actually kind of cared about him, didn't he? He didn't deserve…

****

_Wait..._

****

"Yeah. Maybe they were-"

****

"Oh fuck, not Stinky…"

****

Luke laughed at that, Ian halfheartedly following along, but it really wasn't meant to be a joke.

****

"That's who you're worried about? The skunk?"

****

"Hey, I- I don't know, he could have been anyone."

****

"He- Oh, sh- frick. Yeah, actually…"

****

Ian wondered if it was really right to mourn the other members of the void. If Luke was right about this, he was dead along with them. Would they get the privilege of coming back, too? Even after all of Luke's theories, Ian still had an abysmal grasp on the concept of _why?_

****

"Okay, so… You said this whole, I guess, _situation_ might be something… bigger, but literally why?"

****

Luke sighed, not exactly exuding confidence.

****

"I know there's no way to know for sure, but… You had people watching you, it was a show, and I have no idea _where_ exactly all this is being held, but-"

****

"Entertainment. That's why they just- ripped my soul out of my body and tortured me for three years?"

****

"I mean- I guess! For the… price of resurrection."

****

Ian's blood ran cold, his heart catching in his throat, because _what the fuck, why did that make sense?_

****

"I- I don't remember _consenting_ to that."

****

"I- Yeah, that's why it's scaring me! Like, maybe it's a conditional thing, only for people who like- die horribly and unfulfilled, or maybe it does have to do with the freaking VCR, I just-"

****

"Luke-"

****

"I just- That's where the whole crisis thing is coming in, because if there's no choice in the matter, what if- What if _everyone_ goes there, in some form? Like, there's a lot of religious implications there, but it's also just making me just- Really, _really_ scared to die-"

****

"Luke, we don't know that."

****

That wasn't entirely true. Shane, as the host, had rambled on about the outside world, how everybody leaves and eventually, everyone comes back. Inevitable, but that he's always welcome in the void. And to pray that _they_ remembered him, that he was lucky, that to _please, remember him-_

****

But Ian figured that little anecdote wouldn't be helping much. Even so, they couldn't know for sure.

****

"I know, and that's why I'm just- I don't get it! It's cruel."

****

"That's- I don't know, isn't that just how the world is? And it- It brought me back to you, in the end."

****

Luke's face darkened, finding that now, in their embrace, Ian was the one giving most of the comfort.

****

"If you're looking for some… I don't know, big bad guy to fight, I'm sorry, but I don't think there is one. I don't like it either, but… I don't think there's all that much we can do."

****

It didn't really feel _right_ just saying it to himself, and Luke obviously struggled to comprehend it just as much, if not more.

****

"It's not fair. With all you went through…"

****

"It's over now. I just…" Ian paused, rubbing his thumb over Luke's hand and just now coming to terms with the facts of the matter. "I just want to be here, with you, and you- You didn't have to stay-"

****

"I am just- incredibly grateful I did."

****

"But you didn't have to. The others-"

****

"Ian, I didn't have anywhere else to go."

****

"Yes, you did. And I don't mean to like, undermine anything-"

****

"Well, physically, yes. But… If we're dealing with resurrection and afterlives and whatever, I… I don't think it's too far to rely a little bit on fate, is it?"

****

_Oh, this was more than fate._

****

Ian shrugged, meeting his eyes, wide and blue and _loving,_ a sight he would never tire of at this rate. 

****

"Sure. But, really, I wouldn't want anybody else to have to...

"Ian, you know they'd welcome you back-"

"Would they? And- And they've already moved on, it's... It's for the best, this way. Just... thank you."

****

Luke smiled, _another sight he would never tire of, fuck,_ and pulled him by the hand into his arms. Awkwardly, given how they were positioned on the couch, but giggly and _perfect._

****

"Fine, enough of that, for now."

****

\---

****

"I know I said no more questions, and just- Moving on, y'know, but I do have just a couple more."

****

Luke sighed, smiling at him over his laptop, surrounded by blankets and matching their warmth.

****

"Shoot."

****

"Okay, one: Did you just- Completely stop wearing the hats?"

****

"Yeah. Like, five months ago, I think?"

****

"Okay, yeah. I wasn't sure. Now we may all be blessed by the sight-"

****

"Shut up," Luke chuckled, weakly trying to smack Ian with the back of his hand and missing entirely.

****

"And two: I'm, like, legally dead, right?"

****

"Yep."

****

"So I don't have to finish anything at Asagao, right?"

****

"I… I guess not."

****

"Good. I don't wanna be stuck in there with all the babies."

****

"They're not exactly-"

****

"We should rob a bank!"

****

Luke burst out laughing, a grin quickly infecting Ian as well, even though he was honestly, quite serious.

****

"I'm not sure if that's the best- That- Is that your first priority? Not, like, finishing your academia, or trying to check in with… anyone else…"

****

"Nope. They're... whatever. We should become partners in crime. I call Clyde."

****

"I…" Luke mused, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought, but his smile warm all throughout. After a moment, he exhaled sharply, gaze returning to his laptop. "Tell you what, I'll think about it." **  
**

\---

"I don't know, were people getting buried alive regularly in 2016? I don't remember. Actually, it might just be about stress management, or something? Who knows. Guess there's only one way to find out," Ian announced, but his voice was rapidly disintegrating into static. Just as the show was set to change to the TV show itself, the picture was lost completely.

_[No Signal - We Apologize for the Technical Difficulties]_

After about 30 seconds, the show returned, but not to Ian.

A flicker of an empty chair, and then a man, with wide eyes and a bubbly smile.

"Hi! My name is ■■■■! And I think you're just in time, wanna watch some TV?"

****


End file.
